In the Veil of Shadows

by Logan Keys

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Epilogue

  Gaea

  Thanatos

  Afterword

  About the Author

  In the Veil of Shadows

  Book Two, Lands of Gods Series

  Logan Keys & Nadia Blake

  Copyright Le Chat Publishing 2018

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Gaea

  2. Gaea

  3. Gaea

  4. Thanatos

  5. Thanatos

  6. Gaea

  7. Thanatos

  8. Gaea

  9. Gaea

  10. Thanatos

  11. Gaea

  12. Gaea

  13. Thanatos

  14. Gaea

  15. Thanatos

  16. Thanatos

  17. Gaea

  18. Thanatos

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  About the Author

  He whom the gods love dies young. —Menander

  Prologue

  Styx rolled over in bed, bored, insatiable, and perhaps a tad anhedonic if she were to self-diagnose. The truth was, she’d seen it all and done it all, and Zeus’ moves in the bedroom were as old as time itself. Quite literally. She toyed with the golden hairs on his chest while he lay back, glinting head pillowed on his hands, eyes seeing beyond the ceiling into other worlds, it seemed.

  “You are the all mighty,” she said, setting a trap because, gods knew, nothing made her happier than seeing the kings and queens in her life at each other’s throats, or perhaps, even better, meddling in the life of mortals. “Although I do wonder,” she muttered.

  “What?” Zeus asked. “Wonder what?”

  Styx shrugged, rolling away and onto her side with a sigh. It was a noise she made when she wanted to convey that she was not only displeased but disappointed.

  Zeus also sighed, frustrated, but then he did like she knew he would and he rolled over and pulled her backwards into his arms, tight against his strong body. “What, my perfect one, tell me?”

  She smiled, though he could not see it. “I wonder, if you were mortal, would you be an all mighty one?”

  He laughed. “You know that I would.”

  She turned to face him, pressing a firm kiss upon his lips before she said, “Prove it.”

  “What?” his light eyebrows rose, and though he had to be used to her games, Zeus was always ready to play them. “You know I have nothing to prove.”

  “True. But I’ve heard of a human warrior, you know of whom I speak, and Ares himself has promised that no one could best him on equal footing. Why would he say that do you think?”

  “Because he’s an acolyte of Ares and spends as much time in worship of him as he is in war for him. Ares is a braggart, he loves his followers, you know that.”

  “But you think he is lying? Then the human should be easy to best.”

  “It’s not something I would even consider, Styx,” he muttered, clearly frustrated with this line of discussion.

  She pouted prettily and sat up letting the sheet fall. This close to Zeus, and in his gold flaked bed chamber, she too was mottled with golden flakes, even her hair shook loose gold sprinkles when Styx moved. He loved that about her, she knew, how she’d adapt to her surroundings, and when bedded long enough by Zeus, she started to look as golden as he was. “It’s not embarrassing, Zeus. I said as a human and not as yourself, you’d lose. It's not like you could fight him as a mortal anyway, he’s far younger. No reason to be angry about the truth.”

  That gleam came into his eyes she loved so well. A small thrill went through her to notice that the challenge had been accepted by Zeus before he was even ready to admit it out loud. “You want me to fight a mortal as a mortal to prove that what? That I could be the best warrior here or there? That it’s not just Olympus where I am strongest?”

  “Oh,” she said quietly. “What am I saying? Forget about it entirely.” Styx leaned into Zeus, petting his cheek. “I don’t want you to do that because you might die. Then who would I love?”

  “I can’t die.”

  She fought a smile. “Not without taking the elixir of mortality.”

  He sat up suddenly, almost spilling her from the bed. “Have you gone mad?”

  Thunder sounded in the distance, and she felt the hair on her arms raise up in reaction to lightning blossoming nearby. Oh, Zeus was getting angry, and it made her want to crawl back in bed, but instead, she’d better play her hand while it was hot. “I knew it,” she said. “You are afraid to challenge a human in the flesh. There is nothing to be ashamed of, we can share everything here. Death is terrifying,” she touched his chin, “especially for an immortal.”

  When he just stared at her dumbfounded, Styx rose, biting back bitter frustration. She gathered her dress to her chest, then her sandals, even though she could think her clothes onto her back, she liked to dress slowly because of the visual it created.

  Pulling her golden dress over her mussed hair, she pointed each toe achingly slow to wrap her sandals up her calves. Her long golden legs were showcased in the human way, with shoes, and she knew that it drove Zeus mad with lust to see her play fair finite maiden. He’d mount her like a stallion and at times, they would indeed use animals to pair when the lust was blinding.

  “It’s ridiculous, Styx,” he said softly, almost pleading, because she would press and win, if he wanted her in the only way she accepted. By conquest.

  “I know,” she said equally soft. “It is. Don’t do it. You can’t afford to lose.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “You aren’t the only one with a lot to do, Zeus.” Styx pecked him with a grandmotherly touch of lips and then waved. “See you later, my love. Maybe.”

  As she hit the front steps to Zeus’ manor on Olympus, she paused and began to count. While she waited, she took in the grand pillars that rose thousands of feet above her faux human form. She was ant sized here when she wasn’t her full-size.

  Thunder rolled, lightning sparked in the distance, growing and growing. Her eyes widened, and her heart beat fast. She breathed in the anger of Zeus like it was life’s-breath being pulled deeply into lungs she didn’t need.

  “Styx,” he thundered, and she knew he was in the sky—he was the sky.

  The clouds moved and shifted and twirled and revealed between them was a blue colored form of Zeus at his purest, just a torso and head in the clouds, white hair blowing, eyes made of glowing coals, as bright as the lightning in his hand.

  She let herself turn into a mist, growing and growing to meet his size, her breast bared, her leagues of skin as blue as his own, her eyes bonfires to match his. Her hair turned white, and she was the female version of Zeus—a homage that she knew he loved more than immortal life itself.

  “I’ll do it,” the thunder said. The rolls of it formed words for Zeus.

  Together, they embraced in the sky, two giants, lightning striking Olympus to let everyone know of their passion.

  Gaea

  My brother accepts all challenges,” I say, reminding my brother’s best friend that this is how it’s always been with our family.

  Carn is still unhappy with the idea of Alastor agreeing to fight a god in human form. Even if my brother has never been bested. Even if he is called Alastor the Great. Carn is wary of the day, saying that the dark clouds bring rain and misfortune.

  My brother had laughed heartily at his friend’s warnings, brushing them off as foolishness. And Carn has changed tactics it seems, appealing to me instead. As if I should be the more sensible one. As if being a woman means I carry a woman’s worry. In truth, it is as if Alastor and I share one mind. We thrive on ch
allenge and conquest, same as our parents, and their parents before them. Fighting is in our blood. Alastor is rarely spoken about without the mention of me. Although, Gaea Warrior Princess doesn’t roll as nicely off the tongue.

  The old coliseum has been rebuilt especially for this moment. We’d had no reason to use it up until now, having our battles on the battlefield, and little occasion to fight for an audience. Our people have cleaned and rebuilt the damaged portions of the arena until she shines like a jewel.

  Alastor has forbidden me to come onto the sand, for fear that I would distract him from his easy winnings. Or perhaps his foe would be the distracted one. I am to sit above in the spot that once held great kings and queens of the past. And it is I that will oversee the rewards to the victor. This being a fight to the death, Zeus has promised Alastor immortality in trade for his win. Not actually immortality as Zeus would perish—mortally perish. But immortality by fame and story. The man who brought down Zeus, King of the Gods.

  And should my brother lose, Zeus only claims his life in payment. The life of one of the greatest conquerors Greece has ever seen.

  Carn is next to me in my brother’s place on the throne-like seats equally high with mine on a dais. He’s outfitted like a dark prince today, his blue-black skin gleaming in the sun, drawing my eyes to the shape of his hard-won muscles. He notices, giving one of his flashing, quick smiles. He’s momentarily forgotten to seem sullen while in careful observation of my own observation.

  I bite my back teeth down, hoping to subdue a heavy-lidded look, and invitation I have been known to give Carn in my weaker moments. That part of my life has gone to the wayside, and this new one has begun. As a leader of one of the largest kingdoms outfitted for war that the world has ever seen, I am far too busy for love and children. Every one of our citizens is trained to fight, we are spartan in that way. Man, woman, child, they can all lift a spear. It makes my heart swell with pride to know that Alastor has done what he’d always said he would do—build a fortress not of impenetrable walls, but of impenetrable people.

  A smile lights my face when I see my brother stride out onto the sand, dark head tilted in my direction. He comes over beneath where Carn and I sit and gives a playful bow. I quite seriously nod back as if I truly am his ruler, and we both laugh. He dons his golden helmet that hides half his face and then lifts his spear and shield.

  Carn shifts in his seat, and I avoid looking over as his mood has no doubt changed again. “Be still, brother,” I say, though Carn is no brother of mine even though we play at it. Truly, if we were brother and sister, we’d have been cursed by the gods for what we’ve shared.

  I lean forward, the anticipation nearly killing me in this moment before the fight has begun. It’s hard to not be in the arena myself. It’s how it’s always been, us fighting side by side.

  The crowd that was once wild and cheering for Alastor, is now silent as the grave.

  I must admit, that even in human form, Zeus is something to behold. He strides out as sure as if he holds the world in his hands, and it takes my breath away. He glances back at a small lady waiting in the shadows of the opposite side of the coliseum. I strain to see her, but it’s as if she is made of the shade herself.

  My eyes trail back to Zeus, who moves toward the center of the arena. He is equal to Alastor in build and height, they are a good match, but his golden head is like day to the darker shades and tones of my people. Even golden, touched by Apollo, he is a shade lighter than the fairest of us. Bright and blinding like a gem waiting to be plucked. And I see greed in Alastor’s eyes the same as I feel it gripping my heart.

  “Win this,” I whisper, “Win this, Alsty.”

  At my nod, the two warriors circle one another, sizing up their enemy. My brother, ever the patient fighter, lets Zeus make the first move. It is a stunning blow but strikes his shield with a loud clang.

  As if it is a symbol, the crowd leaps to their feet, screaming their encouragement, and hissing their disgust. Carn and I are not only on our feet, but we’ve rushed to the edge of our dais and are leaning over the wall as far as we can, enraptured.

  Zeus does not wait, he is quick to attack once again, and Alsty dodges his aim this time much faster. He is learning his methods already and I bite my lip with excitement when I see the sparkle he gets in his eye right before he jabs his spear at an opponent.

  He swings it over Zeus’ head and brings it down on the top of his shield. Then he stabs at Zeus’ legs, forcing the man to trip to the side, but now Alastor is on the offensive, and with that stumble, he’s jabbing, jabbing, jabbing, hitting shield and shield and shield until… he’s past Zeus’ shield and his spearhead finds soft flesh at the thigh.

  The crowd roars as Zeus rushes backwards, his eyes wide with surprise, his face pinched with immense regret. But he’s not going to give up, yet, and he doesn’t even have the spear from his leg before he reacts and stabs Alastor in the thigh as well.

  Both warriors pull the weapons from their flesh and back away, eyeing each other with respect and making plans for their next move.

  This goes on for some time, back and forth. Each time one catches the other off guard, they repay it with more of the same. Both are bloody, and it’s as close as any fight I’ve seen Alastor in. I try not to let it get to me that he’s not won as soundly as he should have by now.

  Zeus attacks, his body worn, his arm slower—he seems tired.

  Sluggishly, he puts his shield up a second too late and Alastor’s spear forces the shield from Zeus’ hand.

  It rolls to the side and Zeus pulls his sword, cutting Alastor’s spear in half. Alastor too pulls his sword and now it’s blade for blade, only, Alastor still has his shield.

  Having the upper hand, Alastor attacks with vigor, immortality within his grasp. He brings his sword down against Zeus’ again and again and again, slipping past Zeus’ guard once to cut a long slice along the other man’s side.

  Zeus hunches over the wound, stumbling away, fear clouding his features, and it’s as if time has slowed. Alastor is already striking, his blade aimed for Zeus’ chest, when I see his discarded shield rise of its own accord from the sand with magic, and fly toward my brother striking him down.

  Alastor’s shield falls. Zeus’ sword is faster than any human’s as it strikes like a viper, biting into the heart of my loved one. Alastor glances down, confused, and then he searches for me, his mouth open in the same way mine is, in disbelief, his helmet falling from his black curls. And finally, when he realizes, his expression turns grim with apology.

  Falling to his knees, I watch Alastor the Great, my big brother, my most beloved, sink away from me, his body crumpled on the sand that’s dyed red with his blood.

  I shake my head in rejection, feeling Carn at my side, trying to break me away from my worst nightmare. But I’m fighting him, still watching. “Get up,” I grit out. “Get up!”

  Zeus is holding his sword above him, smiling, rejoicing in his win, but I’m not looking at him, I’ve only eyes for Alastor’s lifeless body. That is, until I see something form near him only somewhat solidly, a dark cloaked figure that hovers over my brother.

  “No!” I shout, glancing at Carn for help. “Stop him!”

  “What?” Carn says, his worried eyes searching where I point.

  “Stop him! Don’t let death take him!” I shout to the crowd. “Rise up and defend your leader! Why are you doing nothing?” Carn bands his arms around my waist and lifts me from behind, keeping me from throwing myself off the ledge to aid my brother. To fight the shadow that has come to claim his soul. To seek revenge upon Zeus himself.

  And even in my misery, vison clouded with endless tears, I think I see death glance in my direction.

  Gaea

  I knew he'd come. Ares alone is honorable, unlike most of the gods. He’d always cared for those who both won and lost the great battles he set into motion. And so, I’m unsurprised to find him at the front waiting near the pyre instead of drinking from the shared
cup of warriors with my brother’s banner-men, who have made the funeral banquet livelier than I like.

  This is no time to celebrate. It is time for revenge.

  Alastor the Great has fallen. My brother is cold and laid out, waiting to burn, beautiful eyes closed to a world he was so entirely passionate about. Alastor, the famed tactician, the fighter who was never bested, and even now his legend grows when Ares bends the knee to honor my sibling. Yet I do not feel gratitude. It is only fitting that the gods should give him the same honor given only to themselves. He’d done Ares’ bidding his entire life, and if there is a patron that rivaled his servitude, I should like to see it.

  “There is a blessing from the god of war!” a warrior calls when noticing Ares, and they drink more.

  They fear Ares, but I do not.

  Hidden inside of my cloak, my eyes track him where he moves to the shadows, his face etched with deep regret. He’s got his golden bow. It never leaves his side. It is said to be a weapon strong enough to kill a god. Exactly what I need.

  My broken heart is enough payment to the gods. I forswore them the moment Alastor fell—a moment that even now threatens to pull me into a madness and grief that seems able to tear the pillars of our manor asunder.

  Despite all the revelry, I stare up at the pyre to find my brother’s body where it will remain until it burns. Even in death, this warrior is most beautiful.

  I had not realized I’d moved, but I am at his side now. The little moon-crested scar on his cheek is from a careless swipe of my own spear while learning. The crooked nose from so many breaks, and one of them repayment from my elbow when we’d wrestled over a new mare. Not just any mare. Sangoria is now my best horse and has saved me many times in battle. I’d bested my brother to claim her.